


Nothing at All

by crazylittleelf



Category: Fringe
Genre: Angst, Anonymous Sex, Community: kink_bingo, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-10
Updated: 2009-07-10
Packaged: 2017-10-02 22:23:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazylittleelf/pseuds/crazylittleelf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Olivia tries to find something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing at All

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the kink_bingo prompt: anonymous sex.

The part of Olivia's brain that wouldn't shut the hell up tried to point out that this wasn't a good idea, was a very bad idea.  This wasn't something she did, this wasn't her, but fuck, she didn't even know who she was anymore.  Too many people had taken turns rummaging around in her head, rearranging things and making their own additions and she was tired of second and third and fourth guessing herself.  She was tired of comparing herself to Nick Lane and wondering how close she was to cracking like he had, wondering how many people she'd take down with her when she finally did loose her mind.  She was tired of wondering if she'd already lost it.  She was tired of being afraid of what lurked in her mind waiting to catch her off guard.  She was tired of Peter looking at her with that expression that hovered somewhere between concern and fascination, like she was some dangerous puzzle that he couldn't resist, tired of wondering how deeply their similar damages ran.  She was tired of needing him, tired of being afraid of him.  Second guesses or not, he was not a mistake she was willing to make right now.

She was, apparently, perfectly willing to make other mistakes instead.

The girl tasted like strawberry lipgloss and cheap beer and she was pinned up against the SUV in the parking lot, had one leg wrapped around Olivia's, long fingers tangled in Olivia's hair.  She had curly brown hair and bright blue eyes and they'd left the club together in record time.  Olivia's meddlesome brain used John's voice to whisper warnings, point out similarities, remind her of Nick and she ignored it, concentrated on the clever tongue exploring her mouth, the heat against her knee where she pressed it between the other woman's legs.  She reveled in the feeling of warm fingers slipping under her shirt, a red shirt, found in the very back of her closet after emptying it of black and gray in a fit of rage, flinging shirts and suits to the floor.  She'd kicked piles of shadows around her bedroom, just short of screaming, fled to a club, fled without thinking.  She rocked harder against her diversion of the evening, swallowed whimpers and a sharp little gasp as the girl shuddered then went limp.

They broke apart, and a grin flashed in the dim light and the girl slid her hands down to the waistband of Olivia's jeans, working them open.  She slid her hand down, curling fingers into slickness, back up to press against her.  Olivia bit back a moan, shifted to find the other woman's lips again, pushed away memories of Nick and the dancer he'd killed, memories left by John like a field of wreckage across her mind.  She arched into the pressure, into the pleasure that rocked through her hard and fast and brought no relief at all. 

She felt echos of Nick's self-loathing, John's disappointment and she couldn't find anything that was hers.


End file.
